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And landed on the wall.
There, partially hidden behind a stack of art supplies, was a torn poster. One of Min-jung’s own works—a naked woman with pink vibrators bandaged onto her nipples, her face twisted in ecstasy, her body covered in sweat and cum.
Reference material. Practice drawings. The kind of thing Min-jung kept around for anatomical study.
An idea—desperate, degrading, but potentially brilliant—sparked in Hana’s panicked mind.
She moved. Fast. < ...
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